


all in

by ndnickerson



Category: Nancy Drew - Carolyn Keene
Genre: Alternate Canon, F/M, First Time, Hotel Sex, Porn Battle, Porn With Plot, Power Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-13
Updated: 2012-02-13
Packaged: 2017-10-31 03:28:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/339370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ndnickerson/pseuds/ndnickerson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nancy keeps clashing with the newish publisher at the magazine... until she doesn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all in

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts: brunette, tattoo, seduction. It's an AU... you'll see.

"Drew!"

Nancy Drew didn't look up. She had to finish her notes while it was fresh in her head—and besides, she had an idea she knew exactly why she was being summoned.

Kathleen poked her head in the doorway of Nancy's office. "They want to see you," she said, hooking a thumb over her shoulder. "Like, _now_."

"Ugh. Right there," she said, finishing the sentence she was typing.

The elevator ride took entirely too damn long. Nancy glanced down at her outfit. She wore a black leather miniskirt, a black spaghetti-strap tank top, and a studded leather cuff. Her fishnets ended in a pair of beat-up lace-up boots. She wore heavy black eyeshadow, black eyeliner, and burgundy lipstick. Thank God that assignment was over; she hadn't had time to go back to her place and change before she had to file her story.

The receptionist took one look at her, raised her eyebrows, and glanced at her screen. "Three-oh-four," she said crisply, and Nancy nodded, shouldering through the glass doors.

Three-oh-four. Oh, that was worse.

The door was closed. Nancy knocked quietly. She could hear a low voice through the door, and when she wasn't immediately answered, she shifted her weight, leaning against the doorframe.

The print article would be short, but the online edition would have the supplement, and that's where she could submit her photos—censored, of course, because the girls had been underage, and—

A phone receiver dropped into the cradle. "Come in."

Nancy opened the door, taking a deep breath.

The new—well, he wasn't _new_ anymore, he had been there for a year and a half now—publisher was sitting behind his desk. They had met a few times, at the Christmas lunches, the enormous excruciating editorial meetings, but they hadn't ever really done more than say hello to each other. Unless it involved reaming her out over some rule she had... not quite broken. More... contorted to the point of nonsense.

He glanced up at her and then back down at his desk, and then did another take. Nancy swallowed her smile.

She had dyed her hair brown and put a pink streak in it, for this assignment—and that wasn't even so bad. She had talked a tattoo artist she had profiled before into doing elaborate sleeves for her, _and_ a design on the back of her neck, one at the small of her back, a couple around fingers. She had put it on the expense account, but it had been so much fun that if they turned it down, she didn't even mind.

She supposed he should be glad she had taken out the magnetic nose ring, absently, while proofing her story.

"You wanted to see me?"

Mr. Nickerson ripped his gaze from her, glancing over at his computer screen. "Yeah. Have a seat."

He didn't say for her to shut the door, so she settled into one of the functional but ugly chairs in front of his desk. She crossed her knees, folding her hands decorously in her lap.

"So... this is about Hong Kong."

Nancy had to force herself not to roll her eyes. She almost lost the struggle. "What about Hong Kong?" she said, keeping her voice level, a perfunctory smile on her face.

Nickerson stood and walked over to the door, closing it quietly but firmly. "Let's be honest here, okay?"

Nancy waited until he sat down, then leaned forward. "So you _didn't_ want me to follow up on the lead?"

Nickerson shook his head. "No. _No._ Look, you can't... that's not what you were sent there to do, and—"

Nancy threw her hands up in the air. "So you wanted to pay for another ticket out there, and within twelve hours because I was—"

"You're not listening—"

She was a little surprised at how quickly their argument escalated. The previous publisher liaison had been incredibly laid back; nothing phased him at all. Then the economy had gotten bad and the magazine had been acquired by another company, and the editorial side had seen a huge push toward monetizing the online product, and they had gotten Nickerson, who split his time between their office and two others. His attention was fixed firmly on the bottom line—and on Robin Everby, the lifestyles reporter, whom he had been dating for the past year.

"Look, if this is about the hotel bill—"

Nickerson snickered. "That's the _least_ of it, Drew. What you're not getting here is that there are people with _seniority_ , and every time you take an assignment and turn it into this huge coup—"

Nancy made an incredulous sound. "Talk to Lance! He couldn't be _happier_ —"

Nickerson nodded vigorously. "Yeah. I know. He was in my office today totally losing his shit—"

His brown eyes widened, and he shrugged a little over the profanity. "Anyway, he _loves_ what you're doing. Your stories? They're amazing. You know that. But you're stepping on toes—"

"What's more important, hurt feelings or getting a story on the web before everyone else can?"

Nancy knew she was flushed, and when his cell phone rang and he held up a finger, she took the opportunity to try and take a deep breath, calm herself down. But she couldn't, and to hear him on the phone when they were in the middle of an argument—and a stupid argument at that—made her blood pressure go up.

He let out an impatient sigh when he hung up, and glanced at his watch. "We need to finish this conversation," he said, "and I have a dinner meeting. Are you free tonight?"

Nancy shook her head. "Meeting with a source at dinner myself," she said. "And do we _really_ need to continue this? Just give me some f— some ultimatum and we'll negotiate..."

She trailed off, biting her tongue, at the expression on his face. His brown eyes were hard and intense, and his jaw was set. Damn, he had a strong jaw.

"We'll _negotiate_?" he repeated, his voice like ice. "Drew, I speak for the _publisher_. The source of the money. Remember?"

Nancy nodded, looking down. She had to clamp her teeth shut to keep from shouting at him.

"I'm not going to be back until Thursday and we need to get this settled. Look, I'm at the Westin. Just meet me in the lobby after you're done with your source."

Nancy nodded, aware that her blue eyes were narrowed, but unable to do anything else. "Yes, _sir._ "

He gave her a hard look, then dismissed her with a wave.

Nancy went back to her office and filed her story, still seething. She went back to her apartment, wrinkling her nose at the stale air—at least she would be home _this_ weekend—and took a shower, washing the pink streak out of her hair. Bess would be happy to bleach it back to something like normal over the weekend, too. She took alcohol and a cloth and sighed a little in regret before she wiped the tattoo sleeves off; they had taken a long time and she had kind of liked having them. She scrubbed the back of her neck and her fingers and rinsed off the ink.

She seethed during the cab ride to the Illium Diner, too. What if the prick asked her to turn over her sources just in case she was stepping on some fucking toes there too? Ugh. _Ugh._ He needed to leave, to get back to whatever hellhole he crawled out of, get the fuck out of her hair and let her do her job.

And Nancy _knew_ she was good. She had a scrapbook full of the stories she had broken at Wilder, and Hannah saved clippings of all the stories with Nancy's byline—and joked that soon they would need a storage unit to hold them all. Before Wilder, though, Nancy had been a dogged, relentless amateur detective, and all the skills she had learned then served her well now. Her lockpicking ability in particular. And she was used to working alone; while Bess and George had helped her on cases, since she had taken the job at the magazine she had become accustomed to working alone, to covering her own ass.

Circulation and hits at the website had gone up triplefold since Nancy had started at the magazine—and she shouldn't know that, but Rose had taken a shine to her and she really liked those lunchtime martinis. So fuck seniority. If all he wanted was the bottom line to rise, then she would just work the conversation around to that, until he gave her carte blanche. Or as close to carte blanche as she could possibly get.

Nancy looked down at her dress, making a face. To that end, she had dressed carefully: a push-up bra, a one-shoulder eggplant-colored short dress with sheer stockings and four-inch heels. Nickerson was a red-blooded male, and Robin definitely didn't opt for demure pantsuits. Nancy intensely disliked the idea of pimping herself out, even a little, but it was just another job, really, and if it made life easier, it would be worth it. Probably.

As long as her source didn't get any wrong ideas.

She was incredibly overdressed for the diner, and her outfit turned more than a few heads. She ignored all of them and headed over to Mark. "So, what you got?"

Mark had been hitting on her for six months, and he cast a lecherous gaze at her outfit. Nancy rolled her eyes. "I have a thing after this, so put your eyes back in your head and let's get down to it."

"No argument here," Mark said, holding up his hands. "You sure you can't skip that _thing_ you got, though? Cause, girl, I know this new club—"

Nancy propped her chin on her hand. "I have to go home and wash my hair," she said, distinctly. "For the next, oh, twenty years, every night. So. Like I said."

Mark shook his head. "Why you gotta break my balls," he said mournfully, reaching into his pocket. He handed her a slip of paper. "The file's up at this address and I have to delete it tomorrow night, so grab it quick. If he meets with Sal—"

Mark paused and trailed off and Nancy nodded. "Look, I know this is tough," she said sympathetically. "But you're doing the right thing."

Mark shrugged, then glanced up at her. "I do feel really bummed out by this whole thing," he said, a small smile tugging at his mouth and ruining the studied mournful look he was trying for. "Maybe you and me could go back to my place and cheer ourselves up—"

Nancy put the paper in her purse. "I'll get right on that," she told him with a smile. "Now behave yourself."

"You know I won't," he said, his eyes twinkling as he turned back to his food.

The Westin was on Michigan Avenue, and when the cab dropped her off, she glanced longingly at the shops. Worse, though, was the spectacular view of the lake. Nancy never realized how much she missed Illinois, missed Chicago, River Heights, her father and Hannah, her friends, until she came back home. Oh, she loved the thrill of her assignments, of ferreting out clues—but this was her _home_.

God, she needed a drink. A few martinis would give her the fortitude to get through this, especially if she _was_ going to need to—she shuddered a little at the thought—actually flirt with this guy. As though he wasn't going to see through it.

Though the idea wasn't _entirely_ unappealing. She and Zach had broken up four months ago, and she had been so busy that the few dates Bess had set her up on had gone as smashingly as they usually did—as in, not at all. Guys generally didn't respond so well when she put their date on hold to follow someone or go on a sudden stakeout.

And he really was easy on the eyes, even when he was yelling at her.

"Great view, huh."

Nancy turned. Nickerson was standing a little too close to her, and he had loosened his tie, and he looked even more on edge than he had before. She put a smile on her face.

"It is a great view."

Nickerson rubbed a hand over his face. "Look, I don't know about you, but I need a drink, and there's a place a few blocks down. We could walk it." He glanced down at her heels. "Or... maybe not."

"I've taken down drugrunners," she assured him, fluttering her lashes. "I can walk a few blocks in these heels."

She had been to the Coq d'Or a few times, and she had been meaning to go back, so when they walked in, she smiled. Nickerson headed immediately to the bar, and she was right on his heels. "I'll have Glenlivet on the rocks, and the lady will have..." He glanced over at her, squinted a little, and before she could open her mouth, said "A Moscow Mule."

Nancy raised an eyebrow at him. "It's a school night," she said, in a mock disapproving tone.

"And I sign off on the expense reports," he said.

They carried their drinks to a recently vacated corner table, and he caught her skeptical glance at her drink. "If you don't like it, I'll drink it," he said.

She took a tentative sip, tilted her head, then took another. "Should I finish this before we continue our conversation, Mr. Nickerson?"

"Probably," he said wearily. "And, call me Ned."

She raised her eyebrows again. "Uh... okay. That's an... interesting nickname."

"Short for Edmund." He finished half his drink.

Nancy took another sip and toyed with the stem of her glass. "So dinner... didn't go well?"

Ned chuckled darkly. "You could say that. Have you eaten?"

Nancy shrugged, and Ned shot her a glance. "What?" she protested. "Didn't have time."

Ned caught the attention of the waiter, then gestured to Nancy with a flourish. After a glance over the menu, she ordered the lobster roll.

"Nice choice."

"Same to you. The drink is good," she told him.

"Would you like another?" the waitress asked with a smile.

Nancy fought the urge to glance at Ned. "Mmm. Can I get... a double shot of Smirnoff and a Diet Coke?"

Ned raised his eyebrows. "No flavor?"

Nancy snorted. "What do you take me for?"

Ned glanced back down at her dress again, then finished the rest of his drink. "And I'll have another Glenlivet."

Nancy finished the rest of hers after the waitress left, and placed the glass back on the coaster with a silent sigh. "So, let's get this over with," she said.

Ned nodded. "Yeah."

Nancy leaned forward, putting her forearms on the table. "I know it's all about the money, okay? And you can't deny that since I've started writing for the magazine, circulation has been _awesome._ I've been in the meetings. And... I've gotten offers from other places."

Ned's eyes widened. He really did have amazing eyes; they were dark and warm and intelligent, and when they were trained on her, she felt strangely _aware_ , strangely light. And she could flirt with him; he wouldn't expect anything, not with Robin waiting. Nancy was sure that was why he had brought her here; he probably had made plans for Robin to meet him after whatever bullshit social event she was covering that evening.

Nancy touched his forearm, and he glanced down. "I'm not saying I have any interest in leaving," she said softly, and when he glanced back up, she had to swallow and force herself to focus before she could remember what to say next.

"I'm just saying I don't want you to... underestimate what I have to offer."

Ned was saved from responding immediately when the waitress returned with their order. He took a sip of his drink, and Nancy took a bite of her lobster roll, before he spoke. "I'm not," he said. "I'm definitely not. Part of why you're doing so well is that damn maverick streak you seem to have. But the fuck-you attitude?"

Nancy glanced up at him, frozen mid-bite, her blue eyes wide.

" _That's_ what has to stop," Ned continued, like she wasn't openly staring at him. "Is it that you don't _realize_ you're undermining Lance's authority every time you pull this shit, or that you just don't care?"

"If it's not upsetting him, why should it be upsetting me?" Nancy asked, once she was able to swallow her bite. She felt herself getting angry again, and tossed down half the double shot, chasing it with the soda.

Ned sighed disgustedly, shaking his head. "You really _don't_ think you're _ever_ gonna need any favors, do you."

Her throat was stinging. She took another sip of her drink. "I know I'll need favors," she told him. "I'm not an idiot. But I do things myself, and I'm thorough, and if that's a problem, then why the hell was I hired?" she asked defiantly. "I follow _leads_. Everyone knows that."

Ned sighed. "They do," he said wearily. "I do. But you aren't the only damn reporter, and if you piss enough people off, I'm gonna have to weigh that against the work you're doing. And I don't want to do that. Would you consider a partner?"

Nancy tossed back the other half of her shot and, before she took her chaser, said scornfully, "You mean a _babysitter_?"

Ned's fingers tightened on his highball glass. "God, how does anyone ever put up with you long enough to even _give_ you a damn story?"

"And why is it that your hands are tied by some bitchy high-school bullshit?" Nancy retorted. She gestured to the waitress for another shot and sighed. "Why are we even having this fucking conversation. You know why I don't play well with others? Because they're too hung up on the damn _rules._ Like you are."

"The rules are important. The _rules_ are what keep us from getting _sued._ " Ned's eyes were dark with anger now, and damn if that didn't make him hotter.

"The rules are what keep us scooped."

Ned tossed back the rest of his drink. "Look, do you not like me or something? Is there a reason you're being so bull-headed?"

"You mean bitchy?" Nancy asked, tilting her head. "Besides, I didn't think liking you had anything to do with my journalistic integrity or how I'm doing my job. If you _want_ me to like you, you could stop spouting the party line and say what you honestly think."

"I think you're dangerous," he said frankly, pausing when the waitress delivered the shot. "I think you're reckless and I've seen a few cases where you _clearly_ broke the law and Lance just looked the other way. Which I don't get _at all._ "

The vodka was burning a little less, and Nancy felt gloriously, righteously angry. "Maybe he and I have an arrangement," she said, before she could stop herself. "I mean, if I'm such a damn loose cannon, maybe that's just another damn rule to me. Like—like you and Robin."

Ned's eyes narrowed, and he grabbed the rest of her shot and bolted it down clean, no chaser. "What are you saying," he said, his voice low and dangerous.

Nancy flushed. _Fuck_. "I..."

"There's nothing in the rules saying you can't fuck Lance on his desk if you wanted," Ned said, his voice still strangely even. "You trying to say you're not the only one who breaks the rules? Because it's a whole different ballgame if he's giving you favors in return for sex."

The thought of Lance in any state of undress whatsoever was something between nauseating and hilarious—he was balding, pudgy, and generally irritated. Nancy swallowed. "He's not."

"And if you were the 'investigative reporter,'" he said, with air quotes, "that you're claiming to be, you'd know that she and I haven't been... haven't seen each other in weeks."

The silence between them was only broken when the waitress came over again. Nancy still had half a sandwich sitting in front of her, and while part of her desperately wanted another drink, she had a feeling it was probably a bad idea. Ned ordered a soda.

Nancy cleared her throat. "I'm... sorry. About Robin."

Ned shrugged, clearly still angry. "This isn't high school," he said. "And I'm not your dad. I'm not giving you a damn ultimatum, and if you want some ego stroking, fine. You're a hotshot and you know it. There's just going to be a day when you've burned all your bridges, and if it's the best thing to cut you loose, I _will._ I don't want you to have any doubt about that."

Another wave of patrons came in, and the bar grew crowded and noisy. Ned motioned for the check and Nancy picked the filling out of her lobster roll, left her soda half-finished.

On the sidewalk in front of the Drake Hotel, Nancy took a long breath and smiled, a little. Despite the tension, just being back here made her feel a little buzzed.

She looked over at Ned, who had his hands in his pockets, and he was waiting for her to hail a cab. "So you must not be from around here," she said lightly, trying for a conciliatory tone.

"Strike two," Ned said, and took a few steps back in the direction of his hotel, and she fell into step beside him. "You never looked me up, Drew? I'm from Mapleton."

"No shit?" Nancy said, gazing over at him in surprise. "And... call me Nancy."

Ned raised an eyebrow at her, and waited a beat. "You've heard of Mapleton?"

"Hell yeah. I grew up in River Heights."

"Nice," Ned said approvingly.

"So you don't look up your reporters?" she asked saucily.

Ned chuckled. "I've had enough on my plate."

"Yeah, who has the time for Facebook stalking," she sighed.

"Especially when you were mentioned at least once a month for the last, what, ten years, in the _Sun-Times_."

Nancy bumped her shoulder playfully against his, then stepped away a little self-consciously. What the hell was she doing? This wasn't some date. Definitely not.

"I _can_ do a basic web search, after all," Ned said. He glanced over at her. "You cold?"

She shrugged. "I'm okay."

Ned picked up her hand and she was startled at the warmth in his fingers—and the somersault her stomach did in answer. He gazed down at her arm. "You've got goosebumps," he said, and dropped her hand so he could shrug out of his jacket. She shook her head when he offered it, but when he proffered it again, she shrugged and took it.

Even over the butterflies, she drew him into conversation about home, about their high schools. He had graduated five years before she had; that was why she couldn't remember seeing him at any of the games. He had to stay at hotels in Chicago because Mapleton was too far away for the commute, though he did make it home to see his parents fairly regularly. His apartment was in New York, where the publishing house was based.

"God, I love New York," she sighed. "I'll always love Chicago, don't get me wrong, but New York? Oh, man. My aunt lives there, and she has a place out in the Hamptons—have you ever been to the Palm Room? Not the one near Times Square—"

"Yeah, yeah," Ned said eagerly, as their steps slowed, as they approached the Westin. "It's _amazing._ "

He looked down at her as they stopped. "Well. I... Nancy. I'll be back on Thursday. Do we... need to talk some more?"

She let out a long breath. "I think we understand each other," she said quietly.

"Do we?"

She nodded, and their gazes caught and held.

"That's good. I... need my jacket back." His eyes sparkled. "Because I would hate to give you any unfair advantage, over anyone else."

"Like a jacket."

"Like a jacket," he agreed.

"Well, I'm still cold," she said slowly. "But I think another drink would warm me up enough to get home."

Ned glanced at the Westin. "Hmm. I believe there's a minibar up in my room."

Then he looked back at her, and her heart was thick in her throat.

She didn't know him, not really. And he was technically her boss's boss. And she'd had way too much to drink and this was a bad, bad idea. And maybe that whole Robin thing was a lie, but thinking back, she couldn't remember seeing him with Robin in forever, and—

She reached up and opened the jacket a little, and the corner of Ned's mouth turned down. "Well, you _do_ sign the expense reports," she said slowly, mock reluctantly.

His room was nice, his suitcase already half-packed, she noticed when she walked in. It was warm, too.

"So, we have... all the usual," Ned said, looking into the minibar. "More vodka?"

"Sure."

He glanced up at her. "We only have two."

"Think that won't be enough?"

Ned shrugged and emerged with both bottles and a can of Coke. "Maybe there's a discount for drinking the whole thing."

They clicked the airplane bottles together, and as soon as she finished hers, she smacked it down on the desk and shrugged out of his jacket. "Look," she said, blinking as she distantly felt the vodka burn its way down, "I... I think that if I stay here much longer..."

Ned waited for her to trail off, then stepped close to her. He touched her hair. "I've kind of got a thing for redheads," he said, looking at his fingers instead of her face.

"You said you'll be back on Thursday?" she said quietly, and he nodded. "Well, I'll be one again by then."

Ned shook his head, and their gazes met. "Don't think I can wait that long," he murmured.

She didn't do this. She did _not_ do this. She would not do this. This was the worst fucking idea. The worst.

And she was going to say no. She was going to take a step back, to give him a pleasant smile and tell him it had been a nice evening, and—

She was frozen, and the protest died in her throat as he slowly leaned down, his thumb brushing her cheek as his mouth touched hers.

_Fuck_.

She let out a small whimper and slipped her arms around his neck, and she wasn't going to think about how weird this was going to be when they saw each other again, she wasn't—

His tongue slipped into her mouth and he reached down to tug at the hem of her dress. Feeling like someone else entirely was in control, she made a soft noise and reached behind her, pressing her breasts to his chest, as she pulled the zipper down. He took the unzipping over, kissing her again, backing her against the bed.

She had to stop. They _had_ to stop. When she opened her eyes they were wide and he pulled her dress open and she took a breath, as he slipped it off.

She reached up and gently pulled the knot of his tie down. "You—you think this is a good idea," she said softly.

He glanced down at her underwear—she had opted for the garter belt and thigh-highs, God help her—and back up at her face. "No," he said. "And I think this is a fucking _great_ idea, and this is possibly the stupidest thing I've done in a very long time but I have _wanted_ you from practically the first second I saw you and—and I... if you don't want this then we will just not talk about it ever again."

She glanced down. He was at least half-hard already.

Then she glanced back up at him and really _looked_ at him. He was handsome, so very handsome, and the weight of his gaze made her mouth dry, her knees weak. His touch made her hot, and it had been so damn long...

And she never, _never_ did this, but she had the awful feeling that if she walked out of his room right now, there would never be another night like this one, and how could she possibly give up the opportunity to give in to this.

"I never do this," she told him, in a very small voice.

He smiled, a little. "I don't either."

"You mean... you never pick up hot girls in bars and bring them back here?" she asked, peering at him through her lashes.

He shook his head. "Nor do I plan dinner meetings, take underlings out to bars, and _then_ bring them back here."

"Underlings. Now _that's_ sexy."

He chuckled, but his smile was gone in a second. "Nancy... _God_. I don't know..." He released her, and took a step back.

She swallowed and reached up, tugging his necktie off. "So if we never do this, then we will never do this," she said. "And if you never do this... then what happens next."

"Hmm," he said, as she tugged his shirt out of his pants and began to unbutton it. "I don't know. Probably we go on a date. And then another date."

"I seem to remember you saying something about fucking on desks being permitted."

His gaze slid down to her mouth, and he claimed it with a rough kiss, pressing the backs of her knees to the mattress again. She swiftly finished unbuttoning his shirt, and pulled it down his arms when he leaned back. "I really do need to learn to watch my mouth around you," he said. "Although you looked so fucking sexy when you were getting pissed off at me."

" _Me_? _God_ , Ned, if you'd clenched your jaw at me one more time I would have crawled across the table and jumped you right there. Do you know," and her voice dropped a little, went husky with nervousness, "how wet that made me?"

He groaned and kissed her again, hard, squeezing her ass. "So we both agree this is an awful idea," he said, panting a little.

She nodded. "Terrible."

"Because you're going to think this means you have me wrapped around your little finger."

"And every time you come in to the office and I'm in town you'll call me into your office and bend me over that desk of yours and fuck me until I can't walk straight," she said, a wicked gleam in her eye. "And that would be _terrible_."

He reached up and with a rapid movement of his fingers, sent her bra sliding to the floor. She moaned a little when he cupped her breasts. "I think we need to talk a little more about what makes you wet," he growled.

"Is that an order?"

She made her voice light, and he answered in kind, even though she was arching up into his touch. "Very much so."

"Then keep doing that."

She opened his pants and he shuddered when she slipped her hand in, stroking him through his underwear. She flushed a little, even more than the alcohol, as she mentally translated the length and girth measured by her fingers.

Oh, oh _yes_. There was no way she was walking out or stopping now.

He nipped at her ear. "I'm going to have to be even _harder_ on you, from here on out," he growled against the lobe. He panted and she shivered as his hot breath touched her ear, as his hips moved against her touch. "You must know that."

"As long as it's in every possible sense," she told him, and pushed his underwear down.

He chuckled and moved away from her, toeing his shoes off. He went over to his suitcase and dug in a pocket, pulling out a black foil packet, and she sat down on the bed, carefully slipping out of her heels.

Then Ned's gaze was caught by something behind her. "Is... is that real?"

"Is what?" She glanced behind her and saw her bare back reflected in the mirror there, and the tattoo drawn on the base of her spine. She turned back around and chuckled. "Oh. I forgot about that one. No. Sorry?"

He shrugged. "Shame. I felt this sudden urge to trace it with my tongue."

She shivered. "I wouldn't. It'll probably taste like ink."

He nodded, tossing his pants over the desk chair as he watched her unhook her garter ribbons from her stockings and carefully slip them off. "You look like you came ready for this," he said, his eyes sparkling.

She shrugged. "Would you hate me if I said I kinda did?"

He shook his head. "That'd be better, actually. That this isn't just me seducing you."

Nancy raised her eyebrows at him. " _This_ is you seducing me?"

"What do _you_ call it, when a guy gallantly offers to expense all the liquor he's forcing on you, fully expecting you to put out?"

The teasing look in his eyes saved him, and she slowly pushed herself up off the bed. Her gaze fell of its own volition down to his erection. "Presumptuous," she said, and glanced back up at him, her eyes low-lidded.

"Well then," he said quietly. "Guess I'll just have to step up my game a little."

He stepped in close to her, sliding an arm around her waist, and she could feel him trembling just a little, could feel _herself_ trembling just a little as he kissed her, soft and teasing at first, then a little harder. He hooked his thumbs between her panties and her bare flesh and pushed her underwear down, and she wiggled her hips a little, let them fall down to her ankles.

Then he pulled back and let his gaze move down her naked body, slowly, slowly, until she was flushing, fidgeting. When she started to move, to cover herself, he took her wrists in his hands and held them down at her sides.

"God, you're gorgeous," he murmured.

"So are you," she told him. She could see the definition of his abs, the toned muscles of his legs, the hard line of his upper arms. And his gaze, dark with desire, was making her _insanely_ wet.

_Bad idea._

_Shut up,_ she thought back, and turned that voice off entirely.

She reached up to slide her arms around his neck and he picked her up, moving with her onto the bed. "What do you like," he murmured huskily, against her ear.

She tilted her head back. "Um... how about if you..."

He cupped her breasts again and she nodded, gasping when he brushed his thumbs over her nipples. "Like that," she said with a soft moan, and as he gently massaged the flesh she parted her legs, moving restlessly. "How... what do you like?"

"We'll get to it," Ned said, his voice a low growl, and he followed the touch of his hands with his mouth. He squeezed her hips as he suckled against her breast, and she whimpered, running her fingers through his hair. Too many lights, too many lights. She wished they were in the dark, but she loved being able to see his eyes.

He slipped his fingers between her legs and groaned when he felt how wet she was. "You're not a virgin," he said, and it was barely a question, but she shook her head anyway.

"You're not."

He shook his head. "Definitely not."

He rolled the condom on, and even though she was singing in anticipation, she felt a little disappointed. So he didn't go for that much foreplay. Well, it wasn't like she was entirely fucking wet already.

Then he lowered himself back to her, kissing her hard, and she wrapped her legs around his waist.

"Mmm," she murmured, raking her nails down his back. He arched in response, and then he slipped his hand down her belly, his thumb squirming between her legs—

She cried out, flushing when his thumb brushed the tip of her clit. "Oh, oh my God—"

He bit her earlobe, sucked at the tender flesh below her ear, and she rocked against him, trembling as he rhythmically stroked her clit. "Tell me when you're ready, baby," he growled, and she groaned and _fuck_ , oh fuck. " _God,_ you are so fucking sexy."

She let out a desperate whimper, then licked her palm, finding his cock. She stroked down his shaft, to the base of his cock, and fuck, she wished he wasn't wearing the condom, but then she gently brushed her fingertips over his balls and his hips pushed hard down against hers.

She gently stroked her fingertips over the base of his cock, the bare skin that wasn't under the condom, and put her mouth against his ear.

"I'm ready," she whispered.

When he stopped touching her she groaned in disappointment, but then he unhooked her legs and rolled over, onto his back, and she was straddling him, looking down at him.

"Well," he said softly.

"Well," she replied, and she was shivering with anticipation.

Together they angled him, and she closed her eyes when he was just barely fitted inside her.

_God_ , he was so big.

She rocked her hips down a little and they both sighed, tensing, and then he reached up and stroked her clit again and she arched, crying out, and after that it was a blur and she took the full length of him, and then she planted her palms on either side of his shoulders and shuddered, grinding, circling her hips as she rode him.

"God, _Nancy_ ," he groaned, and he put a hand against her hips, guiding her rhythm, stroking her clit faster, harder. "Like this?"

"Mmm," she said desperately, nodding, her breasts bouncing with her thrusts. "Yeah, can we, can you—"

"What?"

"On top, I want you on top, want you to fuck me," she sobbed out, tossing her hair out of her face.

She had barely gotten the words out when he rolled over with her, and—

"Oh my _God, oh my God_ ," she sobbed out as he thrust into her hard, burying his entire length between her thighs, then pulled back. He drove into her with rough, deep strokes, still rubbing her clit, and she arched, moving restlessly under him.

"Come, baby," he begged her, his eyes heavy-lidded with desire. "Come."

Her hips circled under his and she dug her fingers into his skin, hard enough to bruise, crying out. Some men hated how loud she was during sex; Ned seemed to be loving every cry she made. "Oh my God you feel _so good_ ," she told him, moving frantically against him. "Oh my _God_ —"

She let out a high cry, and when she began to come she groaned, low and pleased and _wanting_. He surged in her in response, pinning her hips hard to the bed, fucking _rutting_ against her, and she ran her fingers through his hair, forcing her eyes open.

"Come," she commanded him, as she came apart underneath him.

He obeyed her with a groan, shivering every time her inner flesh tightened against him. " _Fuck_ ," he sighed, collapsed to her. "God... that was..."

"So good," she moaned, her hips spread open under him. She brushed a strand of hair off her sweat-slick cheek. "Oh my _God_ , you are..."

"Amazing," he agreed, pulling back a little to look down at her face. "And you said on Thursday you'd be _all_ redhead? Not just..." He brushed his fingertips over the curls between her legs, and she rolled her eyes.

"I promise. Why, do you fuck redheads differently?"

"Let's find out," he said, leaning down to kiss her.

Oh, oh, she was in trouble, she thought as she kissed him back. So, so much trouble. If she wasn't careful, she was going to do something even worse. Like fall in _love_ with this guy.

She had a terrible feeling that she already kind of had.


End file.
